by Michael West
Behind him, Robby cried, “Fire! Call it in!”
And then Tyler heard Perry, relaying information into the mike under his dash, his muffled voice nearly lost beneath the roar of the flames and the pained screams from somewhere within the Woodfield.
Tyler threw his weight against the wood that covered the door, hoping it would crack and splinter. It didn’t.
He ran into it again in a frustrated rage, his shoulder throbbing. To be separated from his love by a twenty dollar piece of plywood, to have to stand outside and listen to her scream as she burned —
No. That would never happen. Tyler wouldn’t allow it. He would claw and chew his way through the board before it came to that.
A hand clasped his aching shoulder.
Tyler whirled around to find Robby standing there, New American Bible and exorcism notes in his hand.
“For Christ’s sake, Doc!”
“Kim’s in there!” Tyler screamed at him.
“Who the fuck is Ki —”
“My girlfriend.”
“Gentlemen —”
Detective Perry walked up behind them, lugging a heavy black cylinder, a huge pipe with handles, his left hand wrapped around the forward handle atop the center of the tube, his right on the handle at the rear. It appeared to be solid metal.
“— move.”
They backed away, and it was not until the detective stepped up to the door, spread his feet, and swung that Tyler realized the pipe was a one-man battering ram.
Its steel surface struck the plywood board with thirty thousand pounds of force, cracking it down the center. Perry swung a second time; the crack widened, splinters flew. A third swing knocked out a huge chunk of wood, and Tyler heard the sound of glass shattering on the opposite side. Each subsequent thrust smashed through to empty space, widening the hole.
“Hold up!” Robby called.
Perry took a staggering step back, caught his breath; Tyler bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet, and Robby reached in, yanked some hanging bits of wood free, then tossed them aside. Finally, the hole was big enough to climb through.
“Let’s go,” Tyler urged, ready to launch himself into the shadows on the other side of the door.
“Wait just a second,” Perry warned, his forehead glistening in the bright light of the marquee. He ran the battering ram back to the open trunk of his car and returned with a pump-action shotgun — the Remington 670. “Now let’s go.”
Robby’s eyes skated down the rifle to the trigger. “You really think that will do you any good against what’s in there?”
Perry nodded at the Bible Robby held in his hands. “You’ve got your protection. I’ve got mine.”
They climbed inside.
46
Tashima looked over the banister, afraid she would find the gargoyles waiting for them on the landing, afraid she would see the golden monstrosities tearing Joss apart, limb from limb. She’d hated leaving him, but she’d been unable to think of any other alternative. He was unconscious. Dead weight. There was no way she could have carried him and the theater chair up these stairs to help Kim.
Thankfully, she found Joss alone on the foyer floor, right where she’d left him. Still motionless.
Tashima frowned.
He needed a doctor.
For that matter, so did Kim.
She clung to the banister beside Tashima, hunched over, head bent. Her dark hair was in her face, stuck to the blood and sweat that coated it. And each time air whistled in or out of her mouth, fresh tears ran from her eyes.
Looking at her friend, Tashima was brought to tears of her own. She glanced up, saw that the flames had reached the top of the stairs; saw thick black smoke drift across the ceiling. She reached over, placed her hands on Kim’s shoulders and gave a gentle tug. “Honey, I’m sorry, but we gotta hurry.”
Kim shook her head and held up one jingling hand, offering Tashima the key ring. As she spoke, air blew matted locks from her bloodied lips like party streamers. “Can’t make it. You ... you go. Get the phone. Get help.”
Tashima looked down. She could run, get the door open, drag Joss out, and then come back for —
No. She couldn’t do that. They were all getting out of here together.
“Lean on me,” she told Kim. “I’ll help you down.”
Kim let go of the banister, held up one trembling arm.
Tashima grabbed it, draped it over her shoulder and behind her neck, wrapped her right arm around Kim’s waist for support.
Kim looked up at her. “I love you.”
Tashima smiled. “I love you too, girl. Now come on.”
They took the steps slowly, one at a time.
And then Tashima felt sudden heat sear her back. She glanced over her left shoulder and saw a figure step out of the inferno, completely covered in flames. It strolled leisurely down the steps, burnt flesh falling from its skeletal frame in fuming black clumps, the metal box cutter still clutched in one blazing hand, glowing red from the heat.
Mirrored tiles lined the walls, reflecting the lobby, the stairs. Tashima saw something there, its moves perfectly choreographed to those of the burning man, but the dark, twisted thing in the mirror was far from human.
The sight sent Tashima’s mind to the edge of the abyss, threatening to push it screaming into insanity. She forced her eyes shut and turned away, wishing she could have lived her whole life without seeing such horror. She took a blind step down, cried out through clenched teeth. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus Lord!”
“He can’t hear you,” the demon chuckled, its voice hideously low. It sounded as if it were only a few risers above them. “No reception here!”
Another sound found Tashima’s ears. A loud banging. But this noise didn’t come from the demon, didn’t come from the Woodfield at all. Someone was outside, pounding on the boarded doors, trying to get in.
Tashima’s mind took a step back, moved away from the edge, from total madness. She forced her eyes open, looked over at the double doors, at the image of the filmstrip etched in the glass, at the large “W” in the center frame.
Maybe she’d only imagined it. Maybe she really had gone insane.
No. The sound came again. Much louder this time. More forceful. And it was followed by the crackle of splintering wood.
Someone was breaking down the door.
Tashima smiled and dragged Kim down another step, another step closer to the exit.
Behind and above them, the demon roared in anger. “No one leaves! No one is going anywhere!”
A familiar noise from the auditorium. Metal grinding against metal. Joints that were never meant to flex, moving just the same.
Her eyes shot the auditorium doors, wide with panic.
The gargoyles were coming.
47
When he climbed through the splintered opening in the door, Robby Miller nearly tripped over a body. A man lay motionless on the floor. He was young, maybe early twenties, his shirt torn and bloodied. The EMT reached for the thumb side of the boy’s wrist and found a faint pulse. “He’s alive.”
Tyler wasn’t listening. All of his attention was focused on the opposite end of the lobby.
Robby followed his gaze and saw two women descending the staircase, arm-in-arm, one black, one white. The white girl’s face and arm were completely covered in blood, but that wasn’t what concerned him most. No. What Robby found more distressing was the human torch that stood a few steps above them, a blazing skeleton that somehow remained able move. The burning figure shrieked with every step, but they sounded more like cries of rage than of agony.
How can it still be walking?
•••
Tyler bolted for the stairs, for his love, calling her name again and again. “Kim! Kim!”
She gave no sign that she’d heard him. Her eyes remained downcast, her hair matted with sweat and ... and blood. Her lip was split, crimson drool streaking down her chin. Her left cheek had been slashed open from her lip to her ear. There
was another cut on her hand, just below the knuckles, blood from that wound covering her entire forearm, and he could hear the labored wheezing of her respiration as he drew near.
“Kim!”
Tyler sprinted up the steps, his feet slipping on the thin carpeting. He held tight to the banister and pulled himself up to her. He put his hands on her shoulders, kneeling over to look her square in the face. Her eyes were lidded, as if she were about to pass out.
•••
Perry took a step forward as well, his shotgun at the ready, then he suddenly stopped, looked around the foyer, and glanced back at Robby. “You hear that?”
“I don’t —” And then Robby did hear it, a sound like unoiled gears grinding together. He cocked his head, listening. It seemed to be getting louder. “What the fuck is th —?”
The auditorium doors burst open, spilling nightmares into the room. Winged demons made of gold, their metal claws clicking against the tile. They reminded Robby of the Sinbad movies he’d seen as a kid. It was as if they’d leapt right off the Woodfield’s silver screen.
One of the bat-faced harpies pounced at them.
Perry’s eyes bulged from his head in disbelief. He jerked on the trigger without aiming and his shotgun went off in the monster’s face, turning its snout into a crater and throwing it back across the foyer.
The detective quickly racked another shell into the chamber and found his next target. This time, he took more careful aim before firing. The shell struck the approaching attacker, blew a whole in its chest the size of a dinner plate, and sent it flying into its closest neighbor. Both monsters rolled into the concession stand, shattering a glass display case.
•••
Tyler watched helplessly as Detective Perry opened fire with his shotgun, flinching at the sound of each blast.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
“God?” The voice was a low rumble of bass.
Tyler’s eyes snapped up and he found himself staring at a burning skull. He felt the heat that radiated from it. The stench of charred flesh was overwhelming. Even more surprising, it moved. The flaming jaws opened and closed, somehow producing speech.
“Here is your god.”
And then it held out the red-hot blade of a box cutter and stalked down the steps.
Tyler plucked the cap off the Guns’n’Roses flask, drew his hand back, and flung holy water into its burning face.
Geysers of steam erupted from the flames. The fiery demon stumbled back into the mirrored wall, sparks exploding from its shoulder as bone turned to ash. Walls, ceiling, and floor shook, constricting like the muscles of a huge throat, producing an enraged shriek that stabbed Tyler’s ears.
•••
“What are you waiting for?” Perry roared over the cacophony. “Start the damned exorcism already!”
Robby nodded. He quickly opened his file folder, took out the pages, and began reading aloud, shouting to be heard above the screeching. “I adjure you, ancient serpent, by the judge of the living and the dead, by your Creator, by the Creator of the whole universe, by Him who has the power to consign you to Hell, to depart forthwith in fear, along with your savage minions —”
He glanced up to see golden talons and jaws rush toward him in a mad blur.
Detective Perry saw it too. He fired off another shot and the shell decapitated the statue in mid-air.
Robby swallowed, then read on, his heart hammering his chest. “For it is the power of Christ that compels you, who brought you low by His cross.”
Another living sculpture rushed him. It scratched at his leg, ripped through his jeans, and tore the skin of his calf beneath.
Robby clenched his teeth and swung at his attacker with the only weapon he had, his New American Bible. The Book struck the gargoyle’s golden cheek and the metal actually smoked.
The gargoyle backed away, its face melting in its hands, its roaring mouth now a silent scream.
Stunned, Robby returned his eyes to the text and continued, “Tremble before that mighty arm that broke asunder the dark prison walls and led souls forth to light.”
•••
Tashima grabbed Tyler’s arm and gave an urgent tug, her voice nearly lost beneath the demon screams. “Can you carry Kim?”
Tyler nodded. He lifted her off the steps and started down.
The demon was close behind, its heat scorching Tyler’s back. “You’re dead!” it roared after them. “All of you ... dead!”
•••
Robby glanced over at the stairs; saw Tyler carrying his bloodied girlfriend. Behind them, the burning figure still threatened, a searing blade clutched in its charred fingers.
He took a step toward it, made the sign of the cross. “It is God Himself who commands you —”
“Really?” The walking pyre laughed at the invocation. “Then let Him come down from His throne and deliver the message in person!”
Robby stared up at it with horrid fascination, and from somewhere behind him, another shot rang out.
The blazing figure’s skull exploded into fiery shrapnel. Robby caught a brief glimpse of something huge and terrible standing behind the headless skeleton, holding it the way a ventriloquist holds a dummy. A dark shape, hunched and twisted, with eyes that burned just as hot and as bright as the flames.
The thing from my dream! The demon!
It spread its shadowy wings and was gone in an instant, leaving what remained of the body to smolder on the carpeted stairs.
Robby whirled around.
Detective Perry lowered his rifle and motioned for the ragged whole in the door. “I suggest we haul ass before something else —”
But it was already too late.
Golden chandeliers dropped like anchors, striking the tiled floor with a tremendous clatter. Huge sections of the ceiling followed them down, raining fire, separating them from Tyler and the girls, cutting off the doctor’s only avenue of retreat.
48
Kim opened her eyes.
The world was a ghost of its former self, everything blurry, indistinct. She felt intense heat bake her skin, saw scattered red flares, like Christmas lights through a fog, and remembered the fire.
Still in the Woodfield. Tashima! Where’s Tashima?
Her vision slowly returned, the haze thinning, and a familiar face came into focus.
Tyler?
Impossible.
Why would Tyler be here?
He wouldn’t be. There was no reason for it. This was just a dream, feeling safe in his arms. All in her mind. A memory of being carried, nothing more.
She reached for him, felt her way up his shoulder, up his neck, and found his face, her fingers bloody, her hand throbbing in time with her heart; her lungs on a bed of nails, being gored with every breath. “Ty-ler?”
“It’s okay, Kim,” he told her, his face lit by the red-orange flicker of the surrounding flames. “Don’t try to talk.”
It is him! It is!
“Joss ...” she whispered. Her voice was giving out, but it mattered little now that Tyler was here. He would help. He would know just what to do. “Joss is hurt.”
“Don’t worry,” Tyler told her, his voice gentle but firm. “Rest.”
She nodded against her man’s chest.
•••
Tyler held Kim closer to him, hugging her as much as carrying her, and Tashima cocked her head toward his ear, trying to be heard above the crackling blaze.
“She gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know!” he roared back. “We gotta keep moving!”
They hurried through the inferno together, Tyler scanning the path ahead for obstacles and debris.
A fallen chandelier stood before them. Silhouetted against ruddy smoke and flame, it had the appearance of a huge birdcage. He could even hear the birds, their urgent caws and screeches made faint by the ravenous snarl of the fire.
Glowing embers drifted down like Hell’s rain, burning Tyler’s exposed skin. He was breathing hard now, and
Kim ... her breathing scared him. He tried to assess her, but his racing mind kept circling back to Martinez. Did the demon strike her in the chest — rupture her abdomen and send her guts up to collapse her lungs? He pushed the thought aside and searched for a new course, smoke searing his eyes.
A grinding bellow rang through the foyer and the tiled floor shook beneath their feet.
Tyler’s eyes shot to what was left of the ceiling, expecting steel rafters to come tumbling out of the smoke-filled sky. “The roof is collapsing!”
Tashima shook her head. Her panic-stricken eyes were on the auditorium doors behind them, mesmerized. “That’s not what that was.”
“What?”
Tyler looked back in time to see a giant crawl into the lobby, a woman in a toga, on hands and knees, a living statue some twenty feet in length, and like the gargoyles, it was made of gold. It looked down on them with a blank, chiseled stare, then climbed to its sandaled feet, a five-foot sword clutched in its right hand.
It stalked toward them in jerky, ungraceful steps, almost as if it were drunk, and the whining sound of its gait was earsplitting. Rising waves of heat distorted it, made it dreamlike; reflected fire danced across its metallic body, reminding Tyler of the human torch Perry’s bullet had just dispatched.
Tashima uttered a single word. At first, Tyler thought he’d heard “music,” but when he looked back at the possessed sculpture, he remembered his Greek mythology and knew what she meant.
Muse.
Kim stirred in his grasp. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t looking at the statue. She didn’t even seem to know it was there. No. Her eyes were on the distant stairs, on the swirling smoke.
“Coming,” she called out, her bloodied lips curling into a grin. “... all of them!”
God, he thought, she’s delirious.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he told her, his voice filled with sudden despair.
And then Tyler felt Kim grow lighter in his arms. He lowered his gaze, stared at her with incredulous eyes.
She was rising up out of his hands, levitating, her crucifix necklace glowing as if it had been forged from a drop of sunlight.
